A/N: Hey, guys! Thanks for leaving your comments, we love reading them, and here we are again, shamelessly asking for reviews because your feedback is everything! Thanks again, and we hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

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~Chapter VII~

"Patching through now, Captain," Uhura interrupted. All eyes turned towards the screen as it fizzled and sparked into focus, but instead of a face appearing as he had expected, a concise body of white text scrolled across the black background from right to left in plain typeface.

Africa. South America.

No. It couldn't be. He saw Spock stiffen slightly out of the corner of his eye.

Europe. North America. Australia.

There was a brief pause, and Jim was suddenly aware that he had stopped breathing. Then, one final word.

Perseus.

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Jim stared blankly at the screen, a strange ringing permeating his ears. He was suddenly dizzy, his heart racing in his chest, and it was a second before he could begin to talk himself into breathing. In the end, he only managed to do so with difficulty, his throat closing reflexively as he tried to inhale.

"Captain?" Spock's voice seemed to come from somewhere distant, a trace of concern detectable within his usually calm tone.

Jim blinked hard, forcing himself to snap out of it, and pushed himself out of his chair. "I- I need to go-"

"Jim?" McCoy was in his way again, and Jim stumbled around him.

"Mr. Spock, you have the conn," he managed to remember, before swiftly exiting the bridge.

After a few seconds, the crew finally dared to turn towards each other, looking anxiously in the direction of their departed captain. Spock stared consideringly at the closed doors, then cast a sideways glance at McCoy, who looked back with an expression of unmasked concern.

A moment later, the Vulcan gave a determined nod, and turned his head towards their navigator pointedly. "Mr. Chekov, you have the conn."

Jim broke the seal off the bottle of whiskey, hefting it thoughtfully in his hand. He had been saving it for a special occasion, but now he found that he could hardly care less. He poured himself a generous portion, watching the amber liquid swirl in his glass with a strange numbness, then tipped the bottle once more and topped off the glass before picking it up. His quarters were silent, echoing the heavy hollowness that now resided in his chest, and even his heartbeat seemed to be reduced to nothing more than a dull ache.

He tilted his head back and downed half the glass in two swallows, grimacing slightly as the whiskey burned a trail down to his stomach.

There was a buzz at his door and he ignored it, taking another gulp and blinking as his eyes watered. Another insistent buzz, and he unlocked the doors with an impatient gesture, downing the rest of his drink and reaching for the bottle again.

McCoy and Spock strode in, the doctor leading the way and stopping short when he saw Jim pouring steadily into his glass. "Jim-"

"Not a good time, Bones," he rasped mindlessly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol gradually settle in.

"What was that all about up there? You ran off like you'd seen a ghost."

"Not a ghost," Jim mumbled, and he raised the glass again.

McCoy reached out and caught the back of his wrist, lowering his hand back down to the table. "Easy there," he said warningly.

Jim stared wordlessly down at the table, blinking at the steady pressure of McCoy's fingers, and said nothing. After another moment of silence, the doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Jim...about that recording..."

"Don't we have more pressing matters to discuss, Bones?" Jim interrupted, more sharply than he had intended.

McCoy frowned defensively. "I was just going to say, if you need someone to talk to about this, then, you know. We're here. When and if you're ready. That's all."

Jim shook his head once, but it seemed like a more automatic response than an intentional gesture, and pulled his hand away from McCoy's abruptly, taking the glass with him. "You know something, Bones?" he asked, with a disarming casualness.

"What, Jim?" McCoy replied warily. Jim stared at him, feeling a peculiar buzz in his veins. He wasn't drunk at all, by any means, but it was as though something in him had finally snapped and he was watching everything happen through a distant haze.

"I never cried after I heard my mother was dead, you know that? Not once. Not at her funeral...not even when I was on my own." He fell silent, watching them take it in, Spock blinking slowly and McCoy looking slightly taken aback.

"Jim…"

Jim pointed at Spock with his newly filled glass, feeling oddly careless as he stared at the Vulcan. "He knows." He turned his head to regard McCoy again. "But you don't. Well, you do now, of course." He shrugged and raised his glass to his lips, then paused, gazing into the shimmering liquid as something nudged vaguely at his consciousness. "You think that makes me a bad son?" Without waiting for an answer, he tipped his head and drained half the whiskey in one go, swaying slightly at the surge of lightheadedness that followed.

When he looked up again, he found that Spock was staring at him, and there was something oddly exposed about his expression that Jim couldn't quite identify.

"I think that's enough now, kid," McCoy said firmly, stepping forward and reaching for the drink.

Jim stiffened, then suddenly threw the glass at the wall in frustration. It shattered with a crash, and he watched with a twinge of satisfaction as the amber liquid gradually made its way down the wall, trickling among the broken shards. "Don't you get it? I felt nothing-" His voice broke, and he stared at the wall in silence. "Until I heard th-that recording. And I heard her voice...what she said…"

"The message in the last transmission," Spock said suddenly, his voice carefully neutral. "You are aware of its implications, I believe."

Jim turned, his gaze flicking to McCoy before settling on his first officer warningly.

"The code," Spock continued. "I do not recall 'Perseus' as a key phrase."

"It's not," Jim muttered distractedly, running a hand through his hair.

"What code?" McCoy demanded. "Will someone just-"

Spock silenced him with a single look as Jim turned, glancing at the globe sitting innocuously on the table behind him. He felt almost eerily calm, now that he knew what he had to do. After all, the only way to find out for sure was to try.

He hadn't personally touched the thing in months, and he traced the edges of the continents hesitantly with a fingertip. The pattern came easily to him, a part of his childhood that had never gone away, and he spun the globe with a casual flick, pressing his fingers against the smooth surface.

Africa. South America. Europe. North America. Australia.

The globe split, the stars pouring out, and Jim quickly realized, as the vast universe filled his quarters once again, that he would never tire of the sight. It didn't matter that Spock had unlocked the globe only hours ago, the nostalgia hit hard every time. The familiar swirls and galaxies spiraled out around him, pulled by their constant orbits. He remembered each of them, could even name them all at one point-

There was a sudden intake of air from McCoy, and Jim looked over in time to see an overzealous planet spin swiftly past the doctor's head and circle the ceiling effortlessly. He watched with a hint of amusement at the pure awe evident in his friend's expression, the man turning in place as he struggled to take it all in.

"Jim...this is incredible," McCoy eventually breathed. "Where did you...?"

"My mother," he murmured, a cold edge slicing into his chest as he spoke.

Perseus. He didn't think she would have remembered.

"Which one's that?"

Her larger hand enveloped his smaller one, guiding it across the glossy page. "That's Perseus, Jimmy."

"What's a Per...per..."

"Perseus," she repeated, a laugh in her voice, her golden hair brushing his cheek as she leaned over him. "The Hero."

"The Hero," he muttered absently under his breath. A star crossed his vision, white and glowing, and he stared at it before it eventually drifted off. That had been one of the good days, one of the better memories he had of her, but that had all been before she started leaving again.

"Mom, don't go!"

"Jimmy, honey..." She bent and untangled his hands from her skirt, wiping gently at his teary face. "I'll be back in a week, baby, I promise."

"But I'll miss you."

"I won't be gone. Not really. I'll be in the stars, remember?" She smiled at him. "With Perseus. He's your favorite, right?"

"-Jim."

He blinked hard and turned, catching Spock's and McCoy's gazes across the glittering expanse. His lower lip stung, the sharp taste of copper bursting on his tongue, and he frowned when he realized he had bitten himself inadvertently. He reached up, wiping away the smear of blood on the back of his hand, only to see Spock staring at him with a knowing look.

Jim glanced away swiftly, trying to ignore the throbbing in his lip. "The stars." he said instead, his mind struggling to make the connection that he knew was there. "He was my favorite."

"Favorite what?" McCoy asked anxiously, flinching as a supernova flared too close to his face.

"A constellation," Spock realized first.

Another star whirled by, caught by the gravity of a black hole, and Jim found himself staring at it as it twisted and vanished. "Perseus," he said quietly, his voice resounding strangely among the swirling galaxies.

The universe abruptly shuddered around him, every star halting instantly as if frozen in place. McCoy let out an exclamation of shock, stumbling backwards towards Spock and cursing when the Vulcan stepped away neatly to avoid him.

Jim felt more than a little disoriented himself as he looked dazedly around at the specks of color and light illuminating the air. A small maroon planet in front of him caught his eye, its pale blue rings tilted mid revolution. He extended a hand warily, expecting his fingers to pass through the orb, but to his surprise, there was a slight resistance against his skin and a faint tingling of energy before the planet suddenly burst like a soap bubble and disappeared.

As if the motion had triggered a chain reaction, the other planets began gradually disappearing, shrinking in on themselves rapidly and blinking away.

"Fascinating," Jim thought he heard Spock murmur as he cast an interested gaze at the vanishing spheres. Then, finally, only one planet remained, hovering halfway between Jim and McCoy at waist level.

It was a rusty shade of red, a single dust ring glittering faintly around its middle. Jim walked to it slowly, realizing with a bitter twist of irony that it was the same abandoned planet they had left three days ago. He recognized the deep whorls of crimson duststorms traversing slowly across the planet's surface, the two moons circling leisurely around the sphere. But there was something new, a white spot of light, pulsing in concentric ripples, and there was no doubt in his mind as to its meaning.

"I won't be gone. Not really."

"Here," he whispered as his throat tightened, his composure feeling precariously close to shattering under the sudden onslaught of emotions. He touched the planet lightly, and the image trembled beneath his fingertips. "She's here."

"Who?" McCoy asked tentatively.

"My mother," Jim replied, his words ringing oddly as he spoke.

"Jim," McCoy said, seeming reluctant to intrude, but determined in his own way. "I thought you said your mother-"

"She was cremated," Jim said absently, predicting McCoy's inevitable question. "There was no body at the funeral."

"Do you….do you think maybe she…?" McCoy trailed off awkwardly.

Jim looked up at him slowly. "What?"

Spock stepped forward as McCoy flailed silently. "Captain, the transmission could only have been sent by an individual who removed Cetus from our systems, someone who also knew the codes for the globe. Our best course of action would be to set a course for the coordinates-"

"Don't," Jim cut him off automatically, shaking his head. "Not yet. Let's...let's not jump to any conclusions, all right?"

"It is a logical assumption," Spock continued on determinedly. "The location indicated by the signal is within one hundred kilometers of the terrorist base where you were previously held. You cannot deny the coincidence."

"No." He needed to say it, needed to believe it just as desperately as he'd hoped he had been wrong about the code. When Spock didn't reply, Jim moved to turn off the globe, clicking the panels back into place and watching as the planet dissipated and vanished. As the last curls of light disappeared, he sank down into the chair behind him and lowered his head into his hands.

"Jim," Spock said after some time, his voice low, and Jim ignored him, trying to will away the headache forming behind his eyes. "We cannot put off this discussion. It is imperative that we reach a decision swiftly."

Jim finally looked up at him, a muscle in his jaw working tensely. "So what are you suggesting?"

Spock eyed him carefully for a moment before answering, his shoulders tensing as he locked his hands behind his back. "I would advise that, given the possibilities regarding the situation, you do not allow your emotions to overwhelm you, Captain."

Jim stared at him, his breathing growing ragged as he struggled to contain his anger. "Spare me the half-assed Vulcan logic, Spock. You're telling me that I haven't thought this through? That I'm too blinded by emotion to see what's going on here?"

McCoy tried to interject, "Jim, that's not-"

"It was not my intention to imply so," Spock snapped, his own voice hardening slightly. "However, no matter what feelings you hold towards the matter, you must still be willing to see the possibility that what you believe you know about your mother may not be as it appears."

"Just say it!" Jim shouted, his voice cracking with the force of his rage as he jumped to his feet. "I know you want to, damn it, so stop with the sympathy," he spat out the last word, barely aware that McCoy was watching him with deep concern, or that Spock had gone still with shock or fury, "and just tell me!"

There was an icy silence that nobody seemed willing to shatter, Jim breathing heavily as he tried to rein himself back in. His heart hurt, and he wavered as he realized that there was nothing reassuring or safe about this pain.

"Very well," Spock said finally, his voice clinical and detached. "There is an undeniable possibility that your mother is affiliated with the terrorists, Jim, this much is evident. If she is still alive, as the evidence suggests, you must consider the legal implications."

McCoy shot Spock a vaguely disapproving glance, brows drawing together in a frown as Jim clenched his fists.

"She wouldn't," Jim said, his voice resolute. "I know her, Spock."

The Vulcan looked at him oddly, and Jim raised his chin defensively. "What?"

"I know you, Jim," Spock responded assuredly, "and I have seen her through your eyes. Can you truthfully claim, despite living without her for the majority of your life, that you knew Winona Kirk at all?"

There was another pause, Jim's expression flickering uncertainly as he struggled to reply. "If you think-" he said heatedly, but then stopped, a trace of hurt crossing his face as he realized there was nothing he could say. Beside him, McCoy looked incredulously at the Vulcan before returning his attention to Jim.

"We're finished here," Jim said at last with a weary edge to his voice. He hesitated, eyes wandering to the globe one final time, and turned towards the doors purposefully.

McCoy cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Where are you going?"

"The bridge. I've got work to do." He tried to make the words casual and was dimly aware of the telling tension in his voice.

Jim strode down the corridor, distantly acknowledging the flurry of footsteps behind him as Spock and McCoy followed him from his quarters. He reached the turbolift just as they caught up and turned, his expression carefully composed. Spock appeared to be somewhat conflicted, if the rigidness of his already stoic expression was any indication, and McCoy looked intensely exasperated by the whole situation, still breathing hard from their sprint down the corridor.

The lift started in silence, Jim's eyes fixed steadily ahead of him when he eventually spoke, "Send a report to Starfleet, Spock, detailing the recent events concerning Cetus. They're bound to have a file on that bastard."

"Yes, Captain," Spock said shortly.

"And..." Jim hesitated, glancing sidelong at Spock with a touch of discomfort. "Don't mention...Perseus. Not yet."

Spock stared at him silently, a gleam of disapproval in his eyes, and Jim sharpened his voice. "That's an order, Commander. Unless, of course, you feel the need to ignore this one, too. Seeing as you know all about me now."

There was a moment of tense silence before Spock's eyes narrowed and he moved his hand to the control panel, halting the lift in place.

McCoy grunted in surprise, just as taken aback by the gesture as Jim, who groaned in frustration as he turned impatiently towards the Vulcan. "You can't be serious," he protested.

"On the contrary, Captain, this is a very serious matter," Spock replied curtly.

Jim stepped back defensively, suddenly aware of how small the confines of the lift were and how close the two other men were standing to him. "Okay, this thing really shouldn't be this easy to stop-"

"Jim, I believe that an apology is in order," Spock interjected, meeting his captain's gaze insistently to ensure that he had his full attention before proceeding. "I apologize for transgressing upon your privacy, despite the fact that the fault lies entirely within the parameters of your own actions, and therefore your recent antagonistic behavior towards me is nothing if not hypocritical in nature."

There was a short pause, during which Jim gaped in incredulity for several seconds and McCoy looked as if he was unsuccessfully trying to stifle a smirk. "You call that an apology?" Jim finally asked.

Spock's eye twitched imperceptibly, his chin tilting slightly upwards as he spoke, "Need I remind you, Captain, that it was neither my idea nor intent to initiate cardiopulmonary resuscitation while you remained conscious?"

Jim glared, feeling a strain of exasperation. "Well, if it was such a terrible idea, why the hell did you go along with it?"

"It was to my understanding that there is a certain degree of trust in friendship, though perhaps you have yet to grasp it even now." While Jim registered the barb, Spock merely continued, "I allowed the plan to proceed, Jim, because I trusted that you were aware of your limits, but you are sorely mistaken if you believe that I am capable of enduring the sight of you in pain."

McCoy looked more shellshocked than amused now, glancing between the two of them nervously. Jim stared at his first officer, dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth uncertainly, then opening it again with renewed determination.

"You're right."

Spock visibly restrained his already prepared retaliation and blinked rapidly, giving him a peculiar look.

Jim squinted at him self-consciously, feeling a slow flush rising in his face from the scrutinization. "What?"

"I...I admit that I did not expect you to concede so easily," Spock said slowly, still eyeing him doubtfully.

Jim scowled reluctantly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, yeah, I get that I can be a real ass sometimes, all right?"

"That ain't the half of it," McCoy muttered.

Jim glared at him irritably, but not completely without affection. "I'm saying that it was wrong of me to ask that much from you down there."

"So was it worth it?" McCoy suddenly asked, his expression oddly intent. "Did staying conscious help you..." The doctor frowned, searching for an appropriate description, "...ground yourself?"

Jim blinked slowly, suspicion seeping at the edges of his mind, but he answered honestly, "Hurt like hell...but, yeah, it did."

McCoy studied him for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied with whatever conclusions he had drawn.

"Still," Jim added, his eyes narrowing as he looked back at Spock, "it still doesn't change the fact that you know things about me that I've never told anyone. And for that reason, I'm still pissed."

Spock seemed to consider this carefully before responding, "I understand that the consequences of the meld are far less than desirable, Captain, though I cannot say with complete confidence, considering the circumstances, that I regret my decision."

"What's he talking about?" McCoy demanded suspiciously.

Jim acknowledged him with a quick glance before returning his attention to his first officer. "You can't honestly expect me to believe that you're totally fine with this. I've got your memories up here, too, remember?"

"I admit that I do find it disconcerting," Spock responded, "however, it is not completely without its advantages."

"Hold on." McCoy looked between them blankly. "Memories?"

"You have only fixated on the negative aspects of such an exchange, Jim, without consideration of the potential benefits," Spock continued, disregarding the doctor.

Jim scowled belligerently. "What's there to be positive about? I've got a right to my own privacy, Spock-"

"Wait, are you two talking about that mind meld? What-"

"Later, Bones," Jim said forcefully, still glaring at Spock.

McCoy looked exceedingly frustrated. "Yeah, like that's not the first promise you've made-"

"Doctor," Spock broke in quietly, and he looked directly at McCoy for the first time during the exchange. "I assure you, this will all be explained to you at a more prudent time."

McCoy's frown deepened, but he subsided reluctantly, settling back against the wall and crossing his arms.

Spock hesitated, looking back at Jim. "While the situation is less than ideal, I believe it is in our shared interest to exploit it for, if nothing else, practical means. With some understanding of the other's background, it is likely that an increase of sixty percent in the efficiency of our professional rapport can occur."

Jim scoffed dismissively. "You know, there are seminars for this kind of thing that don't require intensive brain-diving."

Spock gave him a look that spoke volumes on how thoroughly he saw through Jim's blustering. "As I was saying, there are other advantages to this situation. As you have thus far refused to discuss the planetside events with either myself or Dr. McCoy, I am now able to glean somewhat of an understanding as to the reasons why you feel the need to avoid the subject. I cannot help but find myself concerned that you are attempting to suppress-"

"Suppress," Jim repeated, giving a short, mirthless laugh. "Like you're one to talk. You think meditation can help with something like this?"

"To be fair, Captain," Spock answered evenly, "you display multiple unhealthy tendencies yourself, based on the current circumstances."

"You're not," Jim said tiredly, his voice lowered consciously, "responsible for me. Not like that, Spock. Even if you're right...I don't need you to worry about me."

"Because you can take care of yourself, is that it?" McCoy cut in suddenly. "Hell, that's what you've done your whole life, isn't it?

"And so what if it is?" Jim retorted defiantly.

"You need to know you're not alone anymore, Jim." McCoy stepped closer, looking at him intently. "And whatever you're dragging yourself through now….you don't gotta do it on your own."

Jim remained silent, searching McCoy's expression for a long moment before looking away, giving a low huff of empty amusement in reply.

There was a long pause before any of them spoke again, and it was Spock who eventually broke the silence, encouraged by a slight nod from McCoy. "I trust that you will make the correct decision, Captain," he said, with a certainty that Jim found he couldn't dispute. He glanced up subtly at his first officer, then gave a silent nod and looked away again. Spock hesitated, watching him momentarily before reaching out and starting the lift once more.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, Jim staring contemplatively at the floor. The doors opened onto the bridge, and Spock moved to walk past Jim, who found himself suddenly saying, "Wait."

His first officer paused and looked up at him expectantly. Jim cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I never did say...well, thank you. Both of you. For saving my life."

There was a moment in which McCoy and Spock blinked at him, then glanced at each other, before the doctor finally spoke, a wry smile twitching at his lips, "Seems to me that we're making a habit out of it these days, don't you think?"

Jim couldn't help the surge of relief he felt at those casual words. "Gotta keep you on your toes, Bones. We can't have you getting rusty on us."

Accompanied by McCoy's indignant splutters, Jim turned and strode onto the bridge, settling himself down in his chair with a casual familiarity. There was movement at the corner of his eye as Spock returned to his station, and he turned to meet his first officer's gaze, holding it for a thoughtful moment. Then, he gave a small nod, seemingly to himself, and swiveled back to face the front.

"Mr. Sulu!"

The pilot turned expectantly. "Yes, Captain."

"Prepare to set a new course," Jim responded, his voice strengthened by new resolve. "I've got some coordinates for you."

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A/N: Since it's the holidays and all, we'll be taking a short hiatus, but expect to see us back by the New Year!